


Around the Skyhold Fire

by BlackJacketsandPens



Series: DA:I -- Make It Right [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, anders making friends!!!, it's all good here, more names to be added as i write more of this shit, shameless fenders bullshit!!!, vignettes!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:57:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5522849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many new faces in the Inquisition, and some old ones, too. Anders ends up meeting them all somehow, and finds that he might just be more at home here than he thought. </p><p>(Part of Make It Right!verse - PLEASE read this in tandem with Make It Right, as both fics are intertwined and stuff might not make sense otherwise.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1: Solas

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the vignette-series I promised! Again, had to rewrite these from scratch, though thankfully they mostly remain untouched save for edits needed based on edits made to the actual main fic. Though Chapter 3 got a complete 100% overhaul and you'll see why. 
> 
> ANYWAY, Solas! Being vaguely condescending as usual, but genuinely interested in spirits. (Poor Anders.) I really really hope Solas is IC. Also within lies some theorizing and conjecturing on the nature of spirits and possession.
> 
> For reference, this takes place between Chapters 2 and 3 of the main fic.

**Make It Right: Around the Skyhold Fire -- 1 (Solas)**

 

Anders sighed, ducking out of the main hall of Skyhold and into a side room. Maker, as much as he liked helping out, sometimes it got to be too much. There were so many people, so much chatter...and so many mages, too. Everything felt louder, since Justice, and sometimes he just got antsy, and needed a break from everyone. Like now.

He shook his head and glanced around -- it was a fairly large atrium, occupied mostly with a lone desk in the middle, though the walls were half-decorated with an incomplete, beautiful mural that kept him staring a moment, entranced. The caw of ravens above meant this was the aviary tower, and he remembered someone telling him this is where the library was. Maybe it would be quieter there.

“Pardon, Anders?”

Oh, hell.

He turned, noticing for the first time the tall elf that had been in the shadows of the room -- the mage, Solas, if he remembered right. They hadn’t spoken much, if he thought about it, but he had noticed the man giving him some considering looks since the little debriefing the major players of the Inquisition had gotten when he’d arrived. “Yes, that’s me. Solas, right? Did you need something?”

The man studied him again, and he felt mildly uncomfortable under his gaze-- it was like he was a research subject. “From what I have heard of your...previous situation, you were possessed by a spirit of justice, am I correct?” He asked, and Anders sighed. Of course.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Justice. He...he was possessing a corpse, a Grey Warden named Kristoff, when we met. After a while, I...let him possess me, instead. So he could stay.” He chuckled sadly. “It turned out to be a bad idea.”

The elf smiled humorlessly. “Of course it was,” he said, and Anders could almost  _ feel  _ the disapproval. “A spirit in a mortal’s body almost invariably becomes corrupted.” He paused. “But it is likely that your friend was corrupted already -- the remains of his dead host’s soul would have been enough to begin corrupting him, I believe. The fault remains not entirely yours.”

“Thanks,” Anders said dryly. “That makes me feel so much better. I know what I did to him, you know. Spent six years hating myself for ruining my friend with my anger. I know it was my fault.”

Solas frowned slightly. “If you were aware you were corrupting him, why did you not send him back to the Fade?”

“Besides the fact that I don’t even know if I knew where he ended and I began, after a while?” Anders asked. “He didn’t want to go. He was the one who offered me his help, at first. When we were with the Wardens, what he saw...he was always telling me to fight for mages, that what they went through was an injustice that couldn’t stand.” He laughed quietly. “Back then, I was a pretty selfish guy. All I cared about was getting my freedom and keeping it, keeping my head down and staying away from the Templars.” He smiled at the memories, bitterly. “When I finally accepted...I guess he’d just worn me down. And I think I’d realized that I’d never  _ really  _ be free, anyway. Not unless I did something.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I remember that one of the first things I felt after I woke up as an ‘us’ was how...how  _ repulsed  _ I was at my own selfishness. I...now that I can think clearly again, I don’t think that was me. I don’t know how much of me I was, after that.”

“Hm,” Solas nodded slowly, leaning against his deck. “It is not unreasonable for a spirit’s thoughts and feelings to bleed into its host -- that it happened so quickly is somewhat unusual, but if you say the two of you spoke at length beforehand, perhaps he had already begun to influence you, however slightly,” he said. “It also does not surprise me that you began to merge with your friend; two souls within the same body would do so naturally.”

Anders blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah...as time passed, it just got worse. I’m know sure what scared me more, y’know? When I would lose control and he’d take over, or-- or just not knowing what was me and what was him. And after a while, I just stopped caring.” He sighed, shifting from foot to foot and crossing his arms. “I was...angry. I’d always been angry, though; before Justice, I just never had the power to do anything about it, or really  _ wanted  _ to. But then...after we joined, that anger, it-- it’s what corrupted Justice. Made him Vengeance. And I should have realized when it stopped scaring me, when I stopped fighting it…” He sighed. “I think at the end he was the only thing keeping me on my feet. He kept telling me that this was a distraction, that was a distraction, don’t eat, don’t sleep, don’t do this, don’t do that-- it’s all distracting you from the Cause. He’d push me so hard, and I’d let him, because half of me was convinced it was _ me _ . That I didn’t deserve-- that giving anything less than everything I was to others was selfish.”

He wasn’t sure why he was telling this to-- to someone he’d only just met. But it felt good to get it off his chest, to say it out loud. It had all been sitting in his stomach like an iron weight since he’d woken up alone, this... _ understanding _ . Looking back and realizing what he’d become, what he’d made Justice and what Justice had made him. Realizing how wrong it had all been. Realizing what had been him, and what hadn’t, and what he’d lost. 

For his part, though, Solas seemed...pitying. Not sympathetic. It stung a little, the sneaking suspicion that he felt sorrier for Justice than for him, but it was better than nothing. “It does seem like the two of you were mutually destructive in regards to each other,” he agreed. “I am...sorry, that you lost a friend in such a way.”

Anders smiled weakly. “Thanks, I think,” he said. “I miss him sometimes. It’s hard being alone in my head after so long...everything feels too loud. But at the same time, I don’t miss him? If that makes sense. I don’t miss him because if he were still here, he...still wouldn’t be Justice. He still-- we still would be...”

“Understandable,” Solas said. “I have many friends who are spirits -- I would not wish to see them corrupted as yours was.”

Anders’ brow furrowed, and he smiled wryly. “It sounds like you feel sorrier for him than for me,” he said. “I mean...I understand. He was part of me for years, so I do-- I do feel bad for him. What I made him. But...he hurt me, too. It isn’t just him who was affected by what we did.”

“I apologize,” Solas said, smiling thinly, and Anders actually half-believed it. “You are as much a victim of the circumstances as he was. I am...unused to that. In my experience, it is alway the mortal at fault. Your case is very unusual.”

Anders laughed quietly. “That’s true enough, I guess,” he admitted. “I’m-- we were nothing if not unusual.”

There was a long silence, during which Solas continued to study him. “Your friend-- he sacrificed his own essence to save you, yes?”

“Yeah,” Anders said, hugging himself a little. “I really don’t remember much of what happened. It’s blurry, and some of it I know is that we were so blurred together nothing was really-- nothing really stuck. But I think I’m blocking out the rest, which I don’t really mind. I just know those Templars nearly killed me, and it was Justice who saved me. I guess...he burned himself out to do it. I owe him for that.”

“Hm,” Solas mused. “Perhaps it was his way of seeking penance for what he had done to you; what you two had done. He was a spirit of justice, correct? Perhaps he saw giving you your life back as what was just.”

Anders sighed quietly. “I...think that’s what it was, too. And really, I forgive him. He was-- we were just trying to do what was right. He was a spirit-- he didn’t understand this world, this side of the Fade. He didn’t understand mortals, nuances...why what we did was wrong, after all. And I understand that, I understand  _ him _ . Even if my friends don’t.” He knew that the others would likely blame Justice, and he didn’t mind that -- some of his old selfishness coming back, maybe -- but he didn’t blame the spirit. It wasn’t entirely his fault. “I’m just glad...I’m just glad I’m me again, really. Or as much of me as I can be.”

“That is something else I must ask,” Solas said. “I have never before met a mortal who had survived possession unscathed, and was able to speak of it after. Most die, or are so twisted they are no longer human. What was it like? How have you managed?” 

Anders snorted, bitterly. “It’s been hard,” he said. “We had been so blurred together...when he was gone, it took me hours just to remember my  _ name _ . Everything sort of fell back into place after that, but...it’s still hard. I keep remembering new things-- or, well, old things. Bits and pieces of me that I’d lost because of Justice that I didn’t even realize...didn’t remember being.” He smiled slightly, shaking his head. “I know I’m not the same man I was before Justice, and thank the Maker I’m not the man I was when we were together, but I’m...I guess I’m just the best that’s left. I’m a work in progress,” he admitted. “But I’m me. And I feel more like me than I have in years.”

He was just glad he was himself again,  _ Anders  _ again. He’d been scared, almost, that whatever was left was just a shadow. That maybe Justice had taken a piece of him with him when he faded, something irreplaceable. But Varric, when he’d asked, had assured him that he was the Blondie they’d all known and loved in the beginning. A little different, maybe, but for the better. And still Anders. And if anyone would know, it as Varric.

“I see,” Solas said, nodding slowly. “Are there any lingering effects other than that? Having a spirit within you for so long...I cannot imagine it has not left its mark.”

Anders blinked. “Y-Yeah,” he said. “I think...somehow, Justice...I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. It’s like my connection to the Fade is stronger than it ever was before. My magic is more powerful, and I can cast for longer, but...things like the rifts, red lyrium --  _ normal  _ lyrium, even -- they’re so much louder now.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about what it means for demons, but...so far I haven’t been bothered. I hope it stays that way.”

“Mm,” Solas said. “If it begins to trouble you, come see me. I am a scholar of the Fade and spirits, to put it simply, and I may be best qualified to aid you, given the circumstances.” Anders blinked in surprise -- he was...offering help? No, he realized. Not out of kindness or anything, but simple scholarly curiosity. Anders was something to study, to the elf. That was all. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but in the end, he’d take it.

“Will do,” he said. “Thank you, Solas. I, uh...I’m sorry for dumping all that onto you.”

The elf shook his head. “I suppose it was simply something that needed to be said eventually -- I imagine you should be grateful that you spoke to someone who was able to understand.”

He fell silent, turning back to his work, and after a moment Anders realized he was being dismissed. The conversation was over. He snorted to himself, shrugging, and headed up the stairs to the library. He did feel a little better, getting it all out there. Like saying it out loud had let him sort some things out. Well, even if the elven mage didn't seem to think much of him beyond an interesting subject to study.

And at least he was an expert in the field, right?

Ah, well. It could have been worse.


	2. 2: Cole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And herein lies Anders meeting Cole, and I am delighted how easy it is to write him. His speech patterns and the way he thinks is a lot like the way I write naturally sometimes, so it's surprisingly easy to get it down. I love Cole anyway. I read Asunder before I even started DA:I and this boy is such a precious cinnamon roll.
> 
> And Anders likes him a lot, too, but I expected that.
> 
> Chapter takes place between Chapters 2-3 of the main fic, again!
> 
> (PS: I couldn't have Anders get away with being in the Inquisition without some trouble, yeah?)

**Make it Right: Around the Skyhold Fire 2 (Cole)**

 

Anders sighed, ducking around a corner of the courtyard and into a quiet area off the main gardens, small and empty of people. As much as he was enjoying being a part of the Inquisition, a part of something bigger again for the first time since the Wardens...it wasn’t all sunshine and kittens. It couldn’t be, not for him. As more and more people arrived, more and more people were finding out he was here, who he was -- either by loose-lipped soldiers, hearsay, or just simply by recognizing him -- and while some simply ignored him, others...well, others didn’t.

And when that happened, he just wanted to be alone.

He let out a long sigh, sinking to the ground and leaning against a stone wall, tilting his head back to rest against it and closing his eyes. It had begun as such a nice day, really. And then some newcomer mage had recognized him, and decided to confront him right out in the main hall...and right in front of some ex-Templar boys, too. The chaos had ended with some soldiers needing to pull the mage and both ex-Templars off Anders, and in the ensuing scuffle (and loud, angry lecture from Cassandra) Anders had fled to his little sanctuary.

He sighed again, rubbing at the sore skin under his eye and wincing slightly. That was sure as hell going to bruise. He could just heal it, but...eh, let it bruise. Even though Varric would probably ask what had happened if he left it, and he knew he’d probably just say he tripped on the stairs. Everyone knew that was the most obvious, unsubtle code phrase for ‘someone punched me in the face’ in existence, after all. Part of him wondered if he should tell Cullen; even if Cassandra could lecture them, in the end he was in charge of the troops, and was most likely to be able to put a stop to it all. But in all likelihood, Cullen would just laugh. Even if he had slowly been promoted to ‘tolerable’ to the commander, that wasn’t near enough, and the man probably would let it go. Ex-Templar or not, some things just didn’t change with them.

_ ‘Hurts, but it’s okay, I deserve it. I did bad things, so I deserve the hurt. It doesn’t make it right or okay, but it makes them feel better. I want to make them feel better, it’s all I can do, so it’s okay if they hurt me, I don’t really mind.’ _

He jumped and almost fell over, looking around for the source of the voice -- the voice that had been repeating what had been running through his head as if reading his mind -- and finally saw a young man, the sandy-haired one from Haven, perched on a nearby shed, feet dangling aimlessly over the edge and watching him intently.

“Why is it okay?” He asked, his head tilting beneath the large had he wore. “It’s...I don’t think it’s okay to be hurt.”

Anders blinked slowly, shifting position to look up at the boy. “How...how did you do that?” He asked. 

The young man -- Cole, he remembered -- shrugged. “I just can,” he says. “I can feel it. The hurt, the guilt. You’re very sad.” He hopped down from the roof and ambled over, crouching to study Anders curiously, almost like a cat. “No one deserves to hurt, you know. Why do you think that?”

“I…” Anders began, not sure how to answer or explain to the boy. He seemed so innocent, so young, it was hard to find words that would make sense. “I...did something very bad,” he explained finally. “I hurt a lot of people doing it. I made lots of people sad, and angry, and I guess I just…”

“No one deserves to hurt,” the boy repeated, as if he was stating a simple fact like ‘the sky is blue’. “Not even you.” He leaned forward, tilting his head as if listening to something only he could hear, and then rocked back on his heels, his eyes going a little distant. _ ‘Everything’s burning, I can smell ashes, it was bigger than I thought, ‘there can be no peace’ I said, but it’s because I made it like that. I killed those people, I started this, and it’s all my fault, it’s all our fault, I messed up. Why is she so sad? I didn’t mean to hurt her. Why didn’t she kill me? I don’t want to live with this, why do I have to live with this?’  _

He frowned. “You’re the one who destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall,” he said, and Anders flinched, having sunk down lower with his head bowed as the boy spoke.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “That was me.”

The young man frowned, looking puzzled. “But you did that because you thought it was the right thing,” he said slowly. “Even if you realized that it wasn’t later, when you did it you thought that. And I saw all the mages talking, a lot; I was at the White Spire, and there were a lot of them, all sorts of different groups with funny names I could never keep straight in my head. A lot of them were mad even before you did it, and a lot of them were talking about doing things, too. I think that if you hadn’t done it, someone else would have done something else, and maybe it would have been worse. And I think they wouldn’t have felt bad about it, and you do. That’s better.”

“...I guess so,” Anders replied. “But...I started this war. That’s...I spent so long helping people, orphans and refugees...and all I did was make more of them.”

Cole frowned. “That doesn’t mean you deserve to hurt,” he said, sounding a little exasperated. “You’re not bad, I can tell. You wanted to help people, even if you did something that was bad to do it. But you did it because you wanted to help. I know you did. Sometimes people want to help, and the only thing they can do is something people say is bad, but if it helps...then maybe it’s not all bad.” He fidgeted, as if he spoke from experience. “Besides, I figured something out-- if you’re really a bad person, you don’t feel bad about doing bad things. But you do, so you can’t be bad.”

Anders blinked. “I...thanks,” he said, smiling. “That...that actually helps a little.”

“That’s good,” Cole replied, smiling. “I like helping. It’s what I do, I help.” He furrowed his brow a little bit, listening again. “You help people too, the same way. You make things stop hurting. I do that too, I make it stop hurting, I make people forget the hurt.”

Anders blinked. “The same way…?” It was his turn to study the young man, reaching out gently with his magic as if he could-- oh.  _ Oh _ . “You’re a spirit,” he realized. “But...but how…?”

“I don’t know,” Cole answered. “But that’s okay, as long as I can help.” He paused, studying him again. “You had a spirit in you,” he said, that same matter-of-fact tone he seemed to constantly have.

Anders smiled slightly, knowing what the boy was making him fond of him almost instinctively. “Yeah,” he replied. “Justice. He was my friend, but…”

“But he hurt you,” Cole said. “He was hurting a little when he went in you, being away from where he belonged, and when he went in you he was hurt more, but he hurt you, too.” He looked thoughtful. “And now he’s gone because he saved you, and you’re sad, but you don’t really miss him because of all the hurt. And you think it’s okay, too. Because you’re you, and when he was with you, you weren’t you.” His head tilts slightly. “And you made your friends sad, by not being you. And now that you’re you again, they won’t be sad, and that makes you happy.”

Anders smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It makes me happy when my friends are happy.”

“So do I,” Cole agreed, smiling. “But you know, you should be happy, too.” He paused, the smile falling, and he looked intent again. “Do you want me to take your hurt away? I can do that, if you want.”

Anders paused. It...he knew if the boy was a spirit, he really could do exactly that. Make him forget hurting, the pain fading into memories. He could be happy again,  _ really  _ happy. Like before he and Justice merged. But…

“No,” he said finally, and Cole looked really confused, so he laughed softly and explained. “It’s okay, Cole. I...I think I need it to hurt. It does hurt a lot, and honestly part of me does want you to make it go away. It would be nice, to be able to be really happy like I used to be. But I want it to stay. See, sometimes...people need to make the hurt go away on their own. It stays longer, and it’s harder, and sometimes the hurt gets worse before it gets better, but…” He searched for the words. “I need the hurt to go away on its own. Make it a part of me, so I learn from it. Does that make any sense to you?”

Cole shook his head. “No,” he told him. “I don’t understand. But maybe if I watch you, I’ll learn. So I won’t make it go away if you don’t want me to. Is that...does that work?”

“Sure,” Anders said with a smile, reaching out to pat him on the head. “I think it would work.”

The boy smiled, bobbing his head. “Oh, I’m Cole, but you knew that,” he said. “You won’t forget me, will you?”

“Of course not, Cole,” he said. “I’m Anders. I don’t forget my friends, I promise.” 

Cole blinked, and then smiled. “Friends,” he repeated. “I...I like having friends. Thank you, Anders.”

And then he was gone, in the span of a blink, like he had never even been there. “Huh,” Anders said quietly, sitting back. That had been...strange. But good. A good sort of strange. He had felt kind of...instinctively drawn to Cole when he’d first arrived in Haven, and now he knew why. It was like Justice, again, but...before they’d merged. The Justice he’d been friends with. The innocent, curious spirit that wanted to learn about the world of mortals, that liked the song of lyrium and asked hundreds of questions. The friend, not what he’d become. Cole was like that.

It made his heart hurt, almost, to be reminded of what Justice had once been, what Justice had lost. But it was almost a good sort of hurt. Like...like he had another chance. He would be Cole’s friend, and he’d protect him. Make sure what happened to Justice never happened to him.

He smiled slightly. Well...it would be nice to make up for something else he’d messed up. 


	3. 3: Fenris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS FOLKS, THE CHAPTER I'M ACTUALLY PRETTY SURE YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR. (I'm serious, this has twice as many hits as the actual main fic so like. I am fairly sure you're here for the Fenders. Unless not. In which case ??????)
> 
> In any case, this was 100% rewritten from the draft, though I did use some bits. It has helped that since I wrote the original draft, I've read tons of Fenders fic and managed to solidify some things about things and it's a lot better.
> 
> This is set after Chapter 4, obviously, and from this point on, Fenris will be in the main fic as well. :)

**Make it Right: Around the Skyhold Fire 3 (Fenris)**

 

Anders was with Varric, sitting at ‘his’ table in the main hall of Skyhold and playing hands of Wicked Grace -- Anders had lost every hand so far, as usual -- when a very harried-looking soldier came up to the table, looking like someone had shaken him quite firmly a few times. “Ah, uh...Master Varric?” He asked nervously. “There’s, ah...there’s someone to see you.”

“Oh?” Varric asked, surprised. “Really? And who might-- wait.” He blinked, taking in the rather disheveled appearance of the soldier, and exchanged a bemused look with Anders. ‘Would it just so happen to be a very grumpy elf in very spiky armor, yelling a lot and swearing in Tevene?”

The soldier blinked. “Um...yes, sir,” he said, and Varric laughed.

“Yeah, I know the guy,” he said, almost affectionately. “You left him in the front courtyard? We’ll go make sure he doesn’t assault anyone else.”

He stood, and the soldier saluted, looking grateful. Anders sighed, getting up as well. He wasn’t looking forward to this. He’d begged Varric to leave him out of the letter repeatedly, practically getting on his knees, but Varric had just laughed.  _ He’ll find out either way _ , the dwarf had said, _ and wouldn’t it be better if he’s not surprised? You know how much Broody hates surprises. _

And damn him, but Varric was right. So here he was, following him down the steps into the yard.

And there he was, a figure prowling back and forth across the courtyard, dark clothes topped with a burst of white. “Broody!” Varric called out, and the elf’s head whipped towards him, and in the span of a blink he was across the distance between them, his face a thundercloud.

_ Oh, Maker _ , Anders thought, stepping back a few steps up the way. There was Fenris; the same but different. His hair was longer, brushing his shoulders, and he was dressed differently -- dark leathers and a different breastplate, his forearms and the white lyrium tracing along them exposed and actually wearing boots. The only thing that remained the same was the scrap of red bright around his wrist and the huge sword -- the Blade of Mercy, he recalled -- at his back. Otherwise he was the same, the same dark skin and blazing green eyes...which were, at the moment, fixed on Varric.

“Varric!” He snarled, his voice the same deep growl, with the same throaty Tevene burr in it. “You write to me of Hawke and the Fade and you both expect me to simply sit idly by when she nearly  _ died?! Fasta vass! _ What was she thinking?!”

Varric chuckled, holding his hands up placatingly. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe she was thinking that you’d throw yourself headfirst into the Nightmare’s jaws rather than let her get hurt, and she’d rather her favorite elf not get eaten by a demon?” He suggested lightly. 

“I would  _ not _ \--” Fenris tried, but trailed off, looking a little abashed and realizing the dwarf was right. He shook his head, letting another growl slip from him, and let his eyes flicker around the courtyard before settling on Anders. 

For his part, Anders swore his heart stopped beating as the elf’s eyes widened and then narrowed, and he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable fist in the face or through his chest or whatever Fenris was about to do.

He felt himself be grabbed by the collar and pulled downwards, and cracked an eye open so he could look at Fenris; the elf had yanked him down the few inches it took for them to be eye-to-eye, and was glaring at him hard enough to light him on fire.

“ _ Mage _ ,” he snarled, and Anders laughed nervously. 

“Hi, Fenris,” he said, attempting a cheerful tone and only somewhat succeeding. “It’s been a while.”

He just received a good firm shake for his efforts, and Fenris growled again -- though after knowing him for so long, Anders could tell it was less a growl of anger and more of a growl that meant he had no idea what he wanted to say.

“You were there,” he said finally. “With Hawke.” He waited for Anders’ nod, and continued. “He--” He gestured with his free hand at Varric. “--said you stopped her from staying. That she is alive because of you.”

Anders blinked. “I-- I guess…?” He said slowly. “I-- I mean, I tried, but-- unless she said something to Varric I missed, I didn’t think it was me, especially, that--” He trailed off, eyes looking everywhere but Fenris’s face. He didn’t know why Varric had told him  _ that _ . It was Viruth that told Stroud to stay. It wasn’t...he hadn’t done anything special.

Fenris grunted, shoving him backwards slightly as he let go of his collar. “The dwarf does have a habit of exaggerating,” he agreed acidically, making Anders flinch. “But the fact remains you were there, and for whatever reason, he seems to think you helped make sure she returned.”

“Right, yes, suppose so,” Anders said, grimacing and rubbing his collar. Ah, just like old times. Couldn’t even be civil for five minutes. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have minded at all if it were me that was left behind,” he said, matching the acid in Fenris’s tone. “Either way, Hawke makes it, and the world’s less one dirty mage. Right?”

He paused, blinking, as Fenris seemed to  _ flinch _ . No, he’d imagined that. “Hawke would not have left you behind,” the elf said stiffly, and Anders remembered Fenris was aware that she cared about both of them equally. “And--” He paused, and then continued, each word sounding like it was being dragged out of him. “You are not...the worst mage I have ever met.”

“I...did I hear that right?” Anders managed, not for the first time his mouth activating before his head. “Did you just-- I’m not the worst mage you’ve ever met? Coming from you, that’s -- that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me! Are you feeling okay, Fenris?”

Fenris snarled. “Shut up, mage,” he snapped. “Unless you would like me to change my mind?”

“No!” Anders said hurriedly, still unable to hide his grin. Who knew Fenris could blush; his ears were definitely pink. “No, definitely not.” 

There was an awkward silence, and Varric broke it, grinning fit to burst and with a look in his eyes that Anders was pretty sure he was about to strangle the dwarf for. “Tell you what,” he said slowly. “I’m going to go see if the others have written back yet, maybe go bother Nightingale. You two feel free to catch up! Nice to see you again, Broody!” With that, he vanished back into the main hall and leaving the two men alone.

“I’m going to kill that man,” Fenris said finally, and Anders just laughed nervously.

“One of these days,” he agreed, and then fell silent. Back to staring. Finally, Anders coughed, and nodded towards the gardens. “Let’s, uh-- I know a place we can talk in peace instead of, um. Standing in the middle of the courtyard. Come on.” That said, he turned abruptly and started walking, not daring to turn and check if Fenris was following. 

He really was going to kill Varric. He  _ knew _ . It wasn’t surprising, given that Varric knew everything, but this completely wasn’t fair. This was just plain evil.

Varric  _ knew  _ he had a crush on Fenris. He had to stop for a split second and blink, having half-expected to hear Justice disapprove, as he always had, but was only met with silence. He swallowed, shaking his head.

Fenris had always fascinated him, Anders thought idly, enjoying the fact that he could actually think about it without getting complained at by his spirit. He’d complained about Hawke, too, but Fenris had always gotten even more grumping from Justice -- possibly because he distracted him, too, and Justice hadn’t liked that. He’d stopped thinking about Fenris a lot sooner than Justice had chased thoughts of Hawke about his head, but that didn’t mean the crush went away. It had just been easy to forget it was there when the elf couldn’t say two words to him without insulting him.

He had understood Fenris, to an extent. He’d known the same fear Fenris did; for Templars, as opposed to mages. That sort of fear that’s easier to express as hate, because both of them were too proud to admit they were afraid. It had made him angry -- made Justice angry -- that Fenris had hated slavery so much, and yet approved of the Circles, but Anders, looking back, understood that. Hell, he was well aware of his own hypocrisy -- if a Templar had joined the Kirkwall group, he’d never have trusted him, no matter what they would have said.

But it was really hard to sustain that understanding, no matter how devastatingly handsome the elf was, or how utterly sinful his voice was, when he had been such an unrelenting  _ dick  _ to him.

And so this was why he knew his cheeks hadn’t stopped burning since Fenris had given him that compliment, that-- small sign of respect. Not the worst mage he’d met. That really was the nicest thing he’d ever said to him, and it had brought that crush right back to the surface. 

And  _ this  _ is why he was going to strangle Varric.

They finally stopped in the little side area where Anders liked to sit when he was overwhelmed, and he turned to look -- thankfully, Fenris had followed him after all, and leaned against a wall, crossing his arms and looking...well, Anders wasn’t actually sure what that expression was. He’d never seen it on the elf before, and usually he could read him fairly well. It helped that Fenris had always reminded him of a particularly irritable cat. But now he had no idea what the man was thinking.

“Fenris?” He asked, and the elf grunted. “So...are we actually going to talk, or are you going to stand there and look-- whatever your expression is. It’s not your usual limited repertoire of ‘brooding’, ‘annoyed, or ‘murderous’, so I’m not actually sure what you’re thinking right now.” He managed a laugh, trying to defuse whatever strangeness was in the air between them. 

Fenris just sighed, though he swore there was some minute twitch of his lips. “You really  _ are  _ back to the way you were,” he said, and Anders blinked. Fenris must have picked up on his confusion, and he clarified. “Varric told me that the spirit was gone. I didn’t believe him until now.”

“I-- what convinced you?” Anders asked, startled. He wasn’t surprised Varric had told him, or that he hadn’t believed him, but-- the whole believing him bit was new. Fenris shrugged.

“I remembered you,” he said simply. “The obnoxious mage we had first met, the one who didn’t know how to shut up. The one I wanted to strangle for his ridiculous Templar jokes and incessant flirting.” His mouth twitched more visibly this time. “The one who actually cared about things other than his foolhardy, reckless cause. I watched that man disappear -- we all did -- and that’s the man I see right now.”

Anders blinked, and he knew the red on his face had crept down to his collarbone. “I...you-- you actually--” He didn’t know what to say to that. “I didn’t think you cared.”

_ Wow _ , that was awkward. Fenris’s expression even went blank, his eyes widening in surprise. Anders wanted to kick himself. The conversation had been horrifically awkward, but at least it had been civil, and he’d just made it weird. He let out a groan and sank to the ground, putting his head in his hands. “I’m going to shut up now,” he said. “Clearly words don’t like me today.”

“No, I--” Fenris began, cutting himself off. He heard footsteps, and then he looked up to see Fenris crouching in front of him, watching him and looking almost puzzled. “I don’t hate you, if that’s what you think,” he said slowly. “I...can understand why you would think that, but-- I don’t.” He looked away, shifting awkwardly. “The fact that I let you heal me -- let you  _ touch  _ me -- should tell you that at the very least, I trust you.”

Anders shook his head jerkily to get the mental image that had sparked when Fenris had mentioned touching him to go away. Now that was just cruel and unusual. And then the rest of his words filtered in, and his head whipped up to stare. “You  _ trust  _ me?” He asked, his voice stunned and disbelieving, but also awed. “A-A mage?”

“Yes,” Fenris said, irritably. He looked like he didn’t want to be having this conversation. “I trust you. I told you, mage, you’re not the worst I’ve met. You, Bethany,  _ Merrill _ …” He spat their Dalish friend’s name with a reluctance, one Anders almost agreed with, and shook his head. “You are--  _ venhedis _ , you are the few -- the  _ only  _ \-- mages I do not-- the ones I trust.” He looked away, staring at a stone in the wall behind Anders like it was the most interesting thing in the world, and Anders almost found it...cute, that he had no idea how to say this.

Fenris ran a hand down his face and sat back, shifting from a crouch to sit cross-legged on the grass. He rested an elbow on his knee and put his face in it, clearly struggling with whatever he wanted to say. “Hey,” Anders said finally. “Don’t force yourself to be nice if you don’t want to. I-I’m fine with you trusting me. That’s-- that’s more than I expected. You don’t have to like me.”

“Shut up, mage,” Fenris told him, but there was no venom; just exasperation. “I am going to say what I need to say, and you are going to shut up and listen.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t interrupt me, either, or I will never finish.”

Anders nodded mutely, wondering just what in the hell Fenris intended to tell him. The elf took a deep breath, and started talking, refusing to look Anders in the face and instead staring down at the grass between them.

“I-- since this war began, I have been watching both sides. I knew what I was expecting to see, and I-- I expected to be only proven right in my distrust of mages, proven right in everything I’ve said to you and the others. I expected to see-- I expected Kirkwall. Blood magic, abominations, demons...I expected the lines to be clearly drawn.” He shook his head. “And I have seen that. I have seen mages burning villages, I have seen them killing. I have seen them stealing, using blood magic. I’ve-- I’ve seen more than enough to know that I still believe in what I’ve always said.” He took a deep breath. 

“But that’s not all I’ve seen. I’ve seen mages being hunted like animals, captured by the slavers I’ve been killing. I’ve seen Templars slaughtering them without stopping to question if they were guilty. I’ve seen-- I’ve seen frightened children, too young to have even gone through a Harrowing, murdered in cold blood when they do not even understand what blood magic is, by the people who are supposed to protect mages.” Anders flinched at the words, swallowing thickly, but Fenris’s voice was rough with emotion as well. “I have seen the worst of both sides, and though I still believe I am right, I--” He stopped, biting his lip, before pressing on in a rush of words. “I begin to see why you fought so fiercely, why you believed what you did was right. I cannot agree with you, and I don’t think I ever will, but I--” He swallowed. “I once did not believe you when you said the Circles could be terrible things. Now I do.”

“Mages will always want for power, but-- but what the Templars do simply make it worse. Push them to it. It is-- it is not as easy to judge as I thought,” he admitted, clenching his fists on his knees. “I will-- I will try to be more open-minded. Though I promise nothing.”

Anders sat there for a long moment in silence, waiting for the punchline. But none came, and he sank down a little further against the wall. He’d...just heard that. He’d just heard Fenris admitting he had been intolerant and pigheaded. And had said he’d... _ Andraste’s ass, _ but he had the sudden urge to tackle the elf to the ground and kiss him. But newfound tolerance and trust aside, that would probably get him killed. So he just settled for smiling, waiting for Fenris to peek up at him anxiously.

“I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’,” Anders said with a laugh. “That wouldn’t be fair, because I’ve been a giant hypocrite, too, and I guess you should hear me out so you can rub that in my face.” 

Fenris blinked, but nodded slowly. Anders opened his mouth and paused, suddenly all too aware of the fact that he had not planned this impromptu confession at all, and he had absolutely no idea what to say. He swallowed, closed his eyes, opened his mouth again, and just prayed that whatever came out of it made sense, and didn’t just piss Fenris off.

“You were right, about a lot,” he said. “By the time Justice-- by the time we-- by the time he burnt himself out saving me, I-- I was a fucking mess, honestly. I had no idea who I was,  _ what  _ I was, and I barely remembered my own name, let alone anything else. When I woke up alone, it was...it was so surreal. Like everything had gotten tossed in a jar and shaken thoroughly and I didn’t know which end was up. And then I realized I could think more clearly than I had in years. And I just-- I should never have listened to Justice. I-- I always insisted it had been me that corrupted him, and I did, but he changed me too. I-- I should never have been arrogant enough to think I could control it. In the end I couldn’t, and in the end the only reason I’m sitting here right now able to talk, sitting here as the man you remember, is because he sacrificed himself for me.”

He took a deep breath. “You know, if-- if you had met me before Justice, you wouldn’t have believed it was me. I didn’t give a shit about mage rights, or-- or anything like that  _ cause  _ of mine, and hell, I-I-- I didn’t want the Circles torn down. It wasn’t the Circles I had a problem with, it was the Templars, the way we were treated.” He shook his head. “It’s always been the Templars. You have the bad ones as the majority, and if there are any good ones at all they can’t do shit about anything, because they’d either rather protect their own or they’re just not able to protect anyone.” He laughed weakly. “I guess I kind of see Templars the way you see mages. That’s why I’m a hypocrite. I told  _ you  _ to be more open-minded, and I wouldn’t let anyone convince me  _ I _ should be.”

He slumped forward slightly, leaning on his knees. “I just never...I never wanted to do anything about it. It would only get me killed or Tranquil, I thought. One man couldn’t change the world. But then Justice…I was selfish and arrogant, believing I knew what was best for every mage. I was wrong. I’m glad I did it, because it could have been so much worse, but I-- it was wrong. And that’s why I’m here, trying to make up for it.” He ran a hand down his face.

“A-And hell, I-- I’ve had to deal with a shitload of assholes from Tevinter, too,” he said suddenly. “Some dickbag magister tried to enslave every rebel mage in Ferelden, and-- and this whole Inquisition is dealing with Corypheus and the Venatori, all Tevinter. I-I guess if you’ve been hunting slavers, though, you knew that.” He shifted awkwardly, laughing weakly. “I-- I kept thinking about you, did you know? What you’d say. It made me sick, to think of the rebels being turned into slaves, it made me sick to see Corypheus trying to make the Wardens slaves, because-- because I kept thinking about you, and-- and you were right, everything you said about Tevinter. They  _ have  _ freedom, more than any mage in the south, and all they do with it is try to take away everyone else’s freedom. It’s not-- It’s  _ sick _ . And every fucking time one of those magisters opened his mouth I wanted to tear it off his face.” Another nervous laugh escaped him. “I caught myself several times wondering how flammable Minrathous is, i-if I’m honest.”

That thought made him remember what the Nightmare had said and he flinched, and it must have been visible because Fenris made a noise. “...Mage?” He asked, his voice oddly subdued.

Anders just barked another laugh, suddenly self-conscious and all too aware of the pair of green eyes that he knew were fixed on him. “It’s-- it’s nothing. Just...we dealt with a fear demon, in the Fade. And it-- what it said, I just...I guess I just realized how much truth there was in what it said,” he admitted. “I’m  _ angry _ . It wasn’t just-- that was me. That wasn’t Justice. There’s just...a part of me that’s always been angry, at...at everything. At the Circles, at the Templars, at the Chantry, at myself...I’m good at hiding it, I always have been-- it’s gotten easy, when showing anything but a happy obedient face at the Circle would get your ass beat. I’m good at smiling.” He swallowed. “But it’s there, and I just-- what it said...that I’d just end up doing it again, and hurting people again, and--” He choked off suddenly, the phrase  _ ‘I trust you’ _ sinking into his chest like a weight he hadn’t realized was there. “And that you’d all regret trusting me.”

He shook his head one final time. “It’s stupid. I’m stupid. I just-- Maker, I just wanted to say that you could tell me I told you so. I didn’t mean to get that deep. I’m-- I’m sorry. Shit.”

He fell silent, and then to his surprise he felt a hand hesitantly rest itself over his. He had about a second or two to realize it was Fenris’s, before he let out a gasp, head shooting up to meet the elf’s startled gaze. “Oh,” he said. Oh.

The  _ lyrium _ .

He’d been more sensitive to it than most since Justice, even the little bottles of potion, and he’d completely forgotten about Fenris’s brands. Probably too lost in thought to hear it clearly, but now that he was touching him, skin-to-skin, the song shot through his veins like the clearest bell. He’d been near raw lyrium, the sound sweet but as if played by an untrained hand. The potions, like the whistle of something soothing, a childhood song. Red lyrium, untuned and cacophonous. But Fenris...oh, Maker, now he understood why it had distracted  _ Justice _ . It was beautiful. It was...it was  _ Fenris _ . He didn’t know how else to describe it. Sad, and soft, and full of pain and anger and fear and hurt, and the strength one man was able to pull from it, strength enough to stand tall against whatever he faced down, the wordless melody of an untamed wolf.

He hadn’t realized he’d practically melted forward onto the other man until he was pushed back against the wall, Fenris staring at him as if he’d turned purple or grown an extra head. “What-- what in the _ hell  _ was that?” He asked, and Anders was absolutely certain this time that his cheeks were flushed dark with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Anders managed. “Your brands-- the lyrium-- since Justice left, I’ve been more...more sensitive to it than most. I’d never heard it so clear before now.” He laughed weakly. “It’s beautiful,” he said without thinking, and Fenris made a strangled noise, looking bewildered and not at all like he knew what to say to that.

But then he blinked, and it seemed like something Anders had said finally hit him, because he reached out and -- carefully -- grabbed the mage’s shoulders and shook him firmly. “What do you mean, Justice saved you? He burnt himself out for you-- what are you  _ saying _ , mage?!” 

Anders wasn’t quite sure he knew what to do with the look of genuine anxious concern in Fenris’s eyes, so he answered honestly. “I almost died,” he explained. “I was caught by some Templars, and they-- they nearly killed me. Justice saved me, but he burned himself out, and-- Fenris?”

He was staring at him, stunned, for a moment, before fingers dug into his coat and when the elf spoke next his voice was a rough growl. “You nearly  _ died?”  _ He demanded. “Templars nearly  _ killed  _ you?! Why did no one tell me this!?”

“I--” Anders tried, and coughed. “I don’t think anyone thought you’d care,” he admitted. Fenris opened his mouth and then closed it, his expression showing he’d realized how true that was, too.

Finally, he spoke. “I’d care,” he admitted. “I--  _ fasta vass _ . I’m not-- we may not have agreed on much, and we may have fought, and I-- mage, I do not want you dead! I would-- I would not be happy about your death! You do not--” He shook him weakly, words seeming to fail him. “ _ Nescio quid de te amplius _ ,” he snarled finally in Tevene. “You are--”

He stopped, shaking Anders once more before letting him go, pushing himself back so they were farther apart.

“...Fenris?” Anders said slowly, and it felt like he was holding his breath. 

Fenris just snarled weakly, shaking his head, and it was a long time before anyone broke the silence. “You’re too kind to be a magister,” he said finally, and Anders looked confused. “What I said...about being happier in Tevinter. I lied. You-- you could never be a magister. Either they’d eat you alive, or you’d-- or you’d be leading some slave rebellion within a month.” His mouth twitched. “You’re-- you’ve always  _ been--  _ the kindest mage I’ve ever met. I always-- I always hated that about you. I was expecting you to be like all the others, especially with how much you spouted about the rights of mages, but then we’d turn up to get you for whatever Hawke was up to and you’d be-- you’d be taking care of someone, anyone that needed it. Elves, refugees, the poor-- you did it for free, without asking anything. You made yourself  _ ill  _ doing it, because you tried so hard. You-- you confused me, and I hated it. You  _ still  _ confuse me.” He made a frustrated noise in his throat. “And nothing you’ve said has helped. I just-- I don’t  _ understand  _ you.”

“Oh,” Anders said, and stared at him for a long moment. 

This was awkward. They both fell silent, simply staring, not at all sure what was going on in the others’ head.

Finally, almost  _ hearing  _ Isabela and Varric’s voices in the back of his head, Anders let out a frustrated moan of his own. “Oh, fuck it,” he said, and before Fenris -- looking surprised -- could respond, he moved forward, kissing the elf.

There was a long moment where Anders expected to be shoved off or worse, and then Fenris grabbed him by the upper arms and almost slammed him against the wall, returning the kiss with enough force to make Anders’ head spin. He lost track of time, and it could have been hours before they broke apart, breathing heavily, Fenris’s song still ringing in his ears and tasting wine and apples on his lips.

He slid back against the wall, smiling almost dazedly, and Fenris sat back as well with a similar bewildered, but pleased, look on his face.

“I don’t know what that meant,” he admitted finally. “But I-- I would not mind doing that again.”

Anders just smiled wider. “Same,” he said. “But for the record, I’ve always had a thing for you. I’m probably the worst at picking crushes.”

Fenris looked startled. “You--” He broke off, letting out a surprised laugh. “You and Hawke, I swear.  _ Uterque insaniunt _ .” 

“If that means ‘crazy idiots who are in love with the world’s angriest elf’, then yeah,” Anders joked. “That’s us.”

Fenris snorted, but then looked almost shy. “I...as I said, I don’t know--” He stopped, and sighed. “I’m...willing to take the time to figure it out, though. What it meant.”

“And I’ll be glad to help you with that,” Anders said fondly, leaning forward again to press a soft kiss to the edge of Fenris’s mouth. “Take your time. I’m patient.” And happy, he added. Very happy.

He paused, and then laughed, leaning his head on Fenris’s shoulder even as the elf put an arm around his waist. “You know, when Hawke told me to try getting along with you for her sake, I don’t know if this is what she meant,” he said casually, and Fenris laughed again.

“No, likely not,” he agreed. “But I cannot picture her complaining, either.”

There was a silence, and this one was companionable, warm, and Anders just enjoyed listening to the music the brandes made, so intrinsically Fenris. A thought occurred to him, suddenly, and he jerked back, eyes wide.

“ _ Varric _ ,” he said, horrified, and Fenris paled, swearing.

“He can never know,” he said, and then blinked, and looked even more horrified than Anders. “Or Isabela, Maker help us.”

Anders made a choking noise. “Oh, no. No, no, no. She tries writing friend fiction and I will set it on  _ fire _ . I am not going to let her make up--” He stopped, his mind going blank for a moment as it supplied what exactly she could write about. In several different combinations of bed partners. He shook his head furiously, trying to clear it. “I, uh-- yes. Like I said. No friend fiction. Ever.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, a smirk settling on his face as he seemed to realize what Anders had been thinking about, and levered himself to his feet. “Whether or not they find out, I believe I’ll stay for a while. Varric said Hawke would return eventually?” He asked, and Anders nodded. “Good. I’ll stay here, in the meantime. I don’t think the Inquisition would turn down another swordsman, and I doubt you’d mind if I remained, mm?”

“I don’t think I’d mind,” Anders agreed, standing as well. “You’ll fit in, at least-- this crew is almost as motley as Hawke’s.

Fenris chuckled, and then paused, studying the mage’s face a moment. “Anders?” He said suddenly, and he jumped, looking surprised.

“Yeah--” He began, and then stopped. “You called me Anders!” 

The elf reddened. “I-- I simply thought it would be-- better. If I stopped calling you ‘mage’,” he said, embarrassed. “You’ve long since earned the right to that.”

Anders smiled. “I don’t mind,” he admitted. “It sounds a bit affectionate, from you. But if you’d rather call me Anders now, I’m not complaining.”

“Then don’t complain,  _ Anders _ ,” Fenris said, amused. “Now come on. Introduce me to this motley Inquisition of yours.”

Anders just laughed, reaching out to take Fenris’s hand. The elf stiffened, but then he felt cool fingers wrap around his, and he smiled, leading him out of the garden. 

That hadn’t gone at all like he expected, but like Fenris had said...he wasn’t going to complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loose translations of shitty Google Translate Latin (for which you have my apologies) --
> 
> Nescio quid de te amplius. = I don't know what to think about you anymore.  
> Uterque insaniunt. = Both of you are insane.


	4. 4: Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually pretty happy with the fact I hardly needed to edit this one at all.
> 
> This one makes me happy. Very happy. It came out very good and I really like the dynamic between Anders and Cullen and I just. IDK I JUST FUCKIN' LIKE THIS CHAPTER. It always made me curious that despite the fact that both of the boys are from Kinloch, neither of them seemed to recognize each other. So...I theorized.
> 
> Trigger warning, I must mention, for implied sexual assault. Because ain't no discussion of the Circles without it.
> 
> Set after Chapter 4 of the main fic! References the quest Before the Dawn. (Because I literally triggered Perseverance when I got back from the Graves, and that's 100% what inspired this fic.)

**Make it Right: Around the Skyhold Fire 4 (Cullen)**

 

Anders didn’t know what brought him up here -- okay, he did, and his name was Varric fucking Tethras. “Here, Blondie, go take these up to Curly,” he muttered sarcastically. “It’s not like he hates you and everything you’ve ever done, it won’t be a problem, he’s not going to stab you at all!”

Yes, going to visit Cullen was not high on his list of things he wanted to do with his time. They hadn’t gotten along in Kirkwall, and even though Cullen had softened towards him slightly after how much he’d aided Viruth and the Inquisition, it was only  _ slightly _ . Not enough for him to not be absolutely terrified. He shifted the sheaf of papers under his arm and pushed open the door to Cullen’s office, poking his head in slightly. “Hey, Cullen,” he called. “I’m coming in, so please leave your sword wherever it is and not pointed at me.”

There was no answer. Anders frowned, actually entering the room. “Cullen?” He called. It was empty, it seemed. “That’s strange, Varric was sure he was in here…” 

He looked around, frowning, and walked over to put the papers on his desk, shrugging to himself. Oh, well, if he didn’t have to deal with the ex-Templar, he wasn’t complaining. He moved to leave, only to nearly trip over something lying next to the desk. “Ow!” He hissed, picking himself up off the floor and looking at what he’d tripped over -- and stopping dead. 

It was a Templar’s lyrium kit, only everything looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. The little vials of lyrium sang quietly, full and untouched. “What the hell…?” Anders whispered, picking it up. The case looked slightly dented, scratches on the outside like it had been thrown at the wall. “Is he...did he  _ stop _ …?”

That...he couldn’t even conceive of that. A Templar not taking lyrium? That wasn’t...that couldn’t…

He stood sharply, letting the case fall back to the ground, and turned to look around again, a thrill of worry sliding down his spine. Where the hell could he be? Another look around the office, and his eyes settled on the ladder. Oh. He bounded over to it, climbing up as fast as he could, and his head popped up to look around the upper floor of the tower -- it was as he’d thought, Cullen’s quarters, the bed and other things making that clear enough.

And there was the man himself, sprawled in a heap on the floor.

“Shit!” Anders yelped, scrambling up the rest of the way and over to the man, forgetting his fear and dislike as his healer’s instincts took over. He dropped to the ground, pulling Cullen’s head into his lap, and looked him over. He was pale, sickly pale, and touching his face made Anders’ fingers come back slick with sweat. His breathing was unsteady, and his skin was too warm to the touch. 

“Oh, Maker,” Anders whispered. “He really  _ did _ stop taking lyrium.” 

What the hell was he thinking? Maker’s  _ breath _ .  He put his hands on Cullen’s cheeks, ignoring the wet stickiness of his skin, and letting them glow with healing magic, trying to ease the pain and fever. Almost immediately, though, the man jerked, eyes flying open and hands coming up to shove Anders away with a cry, falling forward and turning to scramble back to press against the wall. His eyes were hazy and unfocused, but animal terror was clear in them.

“No!” He said, his voice weak and desperate. “Stay back, stay away! Don’t-- don’t touch me!”

Anders blinked, shifting to a crouch and holding his hands up placatingly. “Cullen, it’s alright,” he said soothingly. “It’s okay. It’s just me. I want to help you.”

Cullen didn’t seem to hear him, shaking his head with enough force to make it look painful. “S-Stay away from me, mage!” He said, his voice rough. “Don’t-- I won’t give in! I-I won’t! You won’t break me!”

Anders’ heart skipped. “What are you talking about?” He asked. “I-- what? Cullen, it’s just me. Anders. I’ve never hurt you.” He was pretty sure he hadn’t. He hadn’t ever met him until Kirkwall, after all.

“N-No, no, I’m not listening,” Cullen moaned, putting his hands over his ears. “Not listening. Won’t listen.”

Anders didn’t know what to do -- he didn’t know what Cullen was remembering, what he was seeing, and he just sat there staring in horror as the man curled in on himself, clutching his head and rocking like a child, whimpering. What the hell had happened? “Cullen…”

He shifted, moving to sit next to the man, hesitantly putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him so that Cullen’s head rested in the crook of his neck, hugging him. “Shh,” he said softly. “Shh, Cullen. You’re safe. It’s over. Come on, you’re stronger than this.” He ran fingers through the man’s hair, making soothing noises and trying to calm the man down. He’d been through enough panic attacks of his own to know how to handle this, though his initial shock at the strangeness of the whole thing still lingered.

Eventually the trembling stopped, and Cullen’s body relaxed, the man letting out a quiet exhale. Anders let go of him, letting the man take his time to pull himself back together and sit up again, running his own fingers through his hair to straighten it. He looked miserable, Anders noted. Shadowed eyes, pale face, the stubble standing out dark against it. He looked a bit like him on his worst days, back in Kirkwall. A scary thought.

“...Anders?” He asked hoarsely, shaking his head. “Maker...that was-- I’m sorry. You...you shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Anders shook his head. “It’s fine. I’m sorry if I upset you or anything; you reacted badly when I tried to heal you…” He smiled slightly. “But if you’re feeling a little better, that’s good.” The smile faded. “Did you really stop taking lyrium?”

Cullen flinched. “I did, yes,”he admitted. “I...should talk to Cassandra. I told her to...if it began to affect my duties, to find a replacement. I...I can’t do this.” 

“You’ve made it this far,” Anders said. “Everyone has bad days.”

“I can’t afford bad days,” Cullen replied, shaking his head. “I...need to be at my best. I can’t give any less to the Inquisition than what I gave to the Templars. I…” He shuddered, running a hand down his face. “I need it. I need to-- I  _ can’t _ .”

Anders was at a loss. He’d never seen this before, never seen a Templar with lyrium withdrawal. It was...frightening. Frightening in a different way than Templars normally were. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Why did you stop?”

“I--” Cullen lost his voice a moment, before glancing up at Anders again. “I used to be at the Ferelden Circle, before Kirkwall. They...it was taken over by abominations, b-by blood mages…” His voice cracked. “They tortured me, tried to-- to break me. The other Templars were--” He shook his head. “And then I went to Kirkwall. Tried to follow orders. But Meredith...you saw.” He swallowed. “I can’t. I can’t be a part of that anymore.”

Anders was silent for a long moment, stunned into quiet, before he managed to speak. “Y-You-- you were-- you were at the Ferelden Circle? When?” He asked. “I-- I was-- That’s where I was. Before the Wardens.”

Cullen blinked. “You-- I don’t remember you,” he managed. “You were? I-- I must never have seen you.” 

“I-- I was the one who escaped all the time,” Anders said, his mouth twitching, not knowing quite how to react. “The one who swam across the lake the one time. Rylock’s runaway.”

Cullen blinked, and then his jaw dropped as recognition flickered in his eyes. “Ryl-- that was  _ you!?” _ He asked, stunned. “I never knew your name...I can’t believe it.” He shook his head. “You missed what-- what happened, then. I think you had escaped just before, in the chaos when that Jowan mage tried…”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “A-and when Frederick, Harper, and Willis found me, we stopped at Vigil’s Keep for a break, and that’s when the darkspawn attacked it, and I was conscripted into the Wardens…”

Cullen actually managed a smile. “I didn’t know that...I suppose you finally got your freedom, then.” His brow furrowed. “But what happened? Was it that spirit, that made you…”

“Ha, yeah,” he said. “I...it was him, a lot of it. Before, all I really cared about was getting out of the Circle and staying out, you know? I...I hated it there, but I guess some people had it better, so that was their problem. I just...I was happy to be in the Wardens. Sun on my face, a warm bed to come back to, good food...I could walk to Amaranthine in a few hours, and spend the night with a girl at the inn, and come back to the Keep, and no one would-- I wouldn’t get in trouble. I was...I was free. And happy.” He sniffled. “The Circle asked me to come visit, to tell them about the Architect, and then they sent Rolan after me, a-and he made me miserable. It felt like I was back in the Circle. So when Justice...I said yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said, and Anders was surprised to hear sincerity in his voice. “You...you’d joined the Wardens. The Templars shouldn’t have tried to control you again.” He looked sad. “We...we Templars, we’re just as chained as you are, you know. We can’t leave the Order. We’re given lyrium, and that’s how they leash us. It’s our strength and our weakness…”

Anders sighed. “I know. I...I’ve never seen lyrium withdrawal before. I thought it was a myth, honestly. Something the Templars used as an excuse to make themselves more sympathetic. But…I’m sorry. It has to be hard for you.”

“It is,” Cullen murmured. “We aren’t all monsters, Anders. I know I...what happened to me colored my view of mages for a long time, and I’m still trying to overcome it, but...there are good Templars. Just as there are bad mages.” He smiled bitterly. “It’s never black and white, not for either side.”

Anders returned the bitter smile. “I know,” he said. “But I’ve never met a good Templar. My experience colored my view of them, same as you.” He shook his head. “I know there are those who want to help. But we can’t. You don’t know what happens to us in Circles, the ones who don’t toe the line and keep their head down, the ones who aren’t content. We all know that if we let you help us, if we agree to talk...we’ll be Tranquil the next day. So we lie. It’s all we can do, just...lie and let them hurt us, and pretend everything is okay, because anything is better than Tranquility.” 

“I...didn’t realize it was like that everywhere,” Cullen said quietly. “I thought it was just Kirkwall, rotten as it was.”

“No, it’s everywhere,” Anders said. “Kirkwall was just much less subtle about it. It  _ was _ rotten, rotten enough that the bad things showed through. Most Circles...we hide it, we hide the bruises and bloody noses and limps, because it’s easier to let it go than risk losing our whole selves.” 

“Is Tranquility that bad?” Cullen asked, and Anders bit back a snap-- he knew no one would understand but mages, and he sighed.

“It’s...it’s horrible,” he said slowly, eyes unfocusing at the memories. “They rip the Fade from you,  _ everything  _ from you. From what I know, it’s...life is gone from the world. Everything is cold, and grey. There’s no color, no life, no feeling. You can’t feel anything-- sorrow, pain, happiness, excitement. Everything is  _ gone _ .” He shuddered. “I’d rather die than let it happen. I...my-- my friend, I-- Karl. Karl Thekla.” He chokes on the name, pressing a hand to his face. It still hurt, even now. Even with Hawke, with Fenris, it still hurt. “He was made Tranquil. Justice’s presence...it reversed it for a moment, and he had enough time to beg me to kill him before he was gone again. We...any of us, we...would rather die, given the chance to choose. We’d all rather die.”

Cullen was silent. “I didn’t know,” he murmured. “I...thought it helped. The Tranquil seem so…content.”

“Because they don’t  _ feel _ ,” Anders said. “It’s...they have nothing. No fire. They’re content, but somewhere inside them they’re screaming.”

There was silence for a long moment, and Cullen looked over at Anders again. “You...did they hurt you, at Ferelden?” He asked quietly. “Is that why you tried to get out so many times?”

“The first three times I just wanted to go home,” he admitted softly. “But the third time they locked me up for a few weeks, and it scared me. I was all alone in the cellars, wet and dark and cold and filled with rats and bugs, for  _ weeks _ ...after that I didn’t want to stay at all. Not to go home, just to get  _ out _ .” He sighed. “The fifth time I got out, they put me down there for months. And the seventh time, the last time before I really got out of there, it was for a whole year. A-And they’d visit. Most of the time they’d just beat me bloody, try to break me, they said. Make me obedient like the others, so I wouldn’t run away again.”

“They…? Rylock’s men?” Cullen asked, and Anders nodded. 

“The worst of them was...Tamsin, Kors, and Frederick,” he explained quietly. “Do you remember them?”

Cullen frowned. “I...yes. Kors was that ox from Starkhaven, I think. And Tamsin was the skinny blond, the one many of the women liked. I...don’t think I remember Frederick, though.”

“Mm,” Anders said. “Them. They would visit, and they--” He shuddered. “They’d make me beg,” he said finally, his voice quiet. Cullen seemed not to understand at first, but then his face shifted into one of horror, and he sat back.

“They-- oh, Maker,” he murmured. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

Anders shook his head. “You didn’t know because I never said anything. If I did, I’d be Tranquil. That’s how it worked. They make you beg, make you tell them you’d do anything, and then they use that against you. Say you let them, you agreed.”

“I’m sorry,” Cullen repeated. “I…” He laughed softly, suddenly, and shook his head. “More of a reason for me to break from the Templars. I won’t be a part of it anymore. I’m here now, with the Inquisition. We’re...we’re good. We help. Right?”

“Right,” Anders reassured him. “We help. Viruth, she brought the mages from Redcliffe. We’re doing good. We’ll stop the red Templars, and with any luck, we can end the war I started.” He sighed. “I’m sorry for what I did, Cullen. I hope you realize that.”

Cullen smiled weakly. “I know. I know you are. I didn’t think you would be, but I know you are, now. You want to make it right, what you did. Like I want to make things right after hating mages for so long.” He leaned heavily against Anders’ side. “We all have things we want absolution for...it’s just a matter of getting it. Leliana, she told me once that the most important person we have to earn forgiveness from is ourselves. I…don’t know that I’ve been able to.”

“Neither have I,” Anders said honestly. “But Leliana’s right, I think. We’ll get there someday.” He ran his hand absently through Cullen’s hair. “In the meantime, keep going, Cullen. You’re one of the good ones. Stay strong. You made it this far.”

Cullen’s smile strengthened. “Thanks,” he said. “That...means a lot, coming from you. You’re not as bad as I thought you were. Thank you, Anders.”

“Right back at you,” Anders said. “You feeling any better? Do you want me to heal you?”

Cullen shook his head. “I feel better, thank you,” he said. “I...think I’ll manage.”

“Good. Come to me if you feel too shitty, okay? I’ll do what I can,” Anders told him, and stood, helping the other man to his feet. “You should probably rest, but you should also know Varric sent some reports over that they managed to get their hands on in the Graves.”

Cullen nodded. “I...should go read those,” he murmured, but when he tried to move towards the ladder he wobbled, and Anders moved to steady him. “Or...or I’ll lie down,” he said sheepishly.

“Yes,” Anders said, mouth twitching. “Healer’s orders, Cullen. Lie down. And then get something to eat before you start work. Got that?”

Cullen chuckled. “Yes, ser,” he said obediently. “I understand.” 

The two men chuckled, and Anders helped him sit down on his bed, before stepping back. “I’ll come check on you later, alright?” He asked. “Take care of yourself. We all need you.”

“I will,” Cullen promised. “And...thank you again, Anders.”

Anders just smiled, snapping a teasing salute before sliding down the ladder. That...that had gone interestingly, he reflected. Not at all what he’d expected. But...they understood each other, now. And that honestly made him happy. That was...good. He felt lighter-- one of the good Templars...to be able to say that out loud, and mean it...that was progress, wasn’t it?

And maybe he couldn’t forgive himself, yet, but knowing that Cullen could... _ Cullen _ , of all people...that helped.


End file.
